Free to Stay
by HanaDear
Summary: "We survived lethal flashes, somehow teleported 30 years into the past, and you two can't even decide whether you like or hate each other." Pre-Sawyer/Juliet and Miles/Juliet friendship set in early Dharma times.
1. The Uncertainty

**Author's Note: Hey folks. After the heart wrenching finale, I thought I'd try my hand at an earlier Dharma fic. This is my first completed fic since my writer's block, so hopefully it's not too horrid lol. I simply adore this couple and Jin and Miles, and was interested in all the possibilities that the writers left open with those three years (and I've been listening to Meg & Dia and rewatching Juliet-centric-Season-3-episodes too much lol). Since it's the first chapter, this is more like Juliet's insight than anything else. **

**And I changed the title because I decided I hated it and it didn't fit all that well. Hope you guys don't mind haha**

**Happy reading!**

**

* * *

**_**Chapter 1: The Uncertainty**_

After years of being somebody else—somebody cold, somebody conniving, somebody explicitly not who she was on the streets of Miami—Juliet not only was unsure if she was the follower or the leader, the sweetheart or the savior, but she also didn't have the faintest idea how to go about being it. Whatever 'it' in fact was.

She knew right from the beginning that James was supposed to be part of the con, the centerpiece of the lie that was now their lives. As their days in Dharma passed, though, the lines were blurred and her sheer uncertainty seemed to amplify. When it was the two of them it was books and wine, catchy music and 9 to 5 jobs; it wasn't the pain, the loss, or the suffering, and perhaps that is why she was so determined to distrust it. She had long since been used to nothing but.

Despite her tendency to discreetly wallow in her countless misgivings (a byproduct of being a horrid mix of a fighter, a pushover, and a prisoner), there was something in the way he looked at her when he thought she didn't notice, something in the way he would let a smile easily light up his features when she was in the room that triggered her wonder.

She hadn't the faintest idea when this change in him occurred—this change from being all set to burn her at the stake whenever the opportunity presented itself, to protecting her—to running from a constant nightmare with her at his side, rifles in tow. She figured that chronic nosebleeds and machete-wielding Others probably altered the equation quite a bit, but there was this flicker of a feeling writhing in the pit of her stomach—a sliver that hoped that through all that they had been through, maybe this was the piece that wasn't a lie.

So she promised those two weeks.

It was odd, after penciling in _'run for your life' _as the main priority on her mental agenda for so long, sitting around doing something so normal such as drinking beer with the boys was a little hard to take in at first. As her promised days dwindled, Juliet found it almost amusing that in this yellow box of a house, with clean hair and spotless clothing, she felt more off balance than she did running from smoke monsters and flaming arrows. At least then was kept busy by an objective—some sort of a defense or plan. At least then she wasn't stuck with these restless insecurities she long since deemed petty in comparison to the sole need to survive. And at least then she didn't have Miles Straume propping his boots up against a chair, a pensive smirk in place, almost taunting her like he would a schoolgirl left uneasy by some tentative crush.

They had all shared a lot over the past few weeks, but the last thing she wanted to talk about this morning was James La Fleur.

Miles lounged back in his seat at the kitchen table sipping his coffee, the wooden legs of the chair squealing slightly as it moved across the floor. Juliet promptly turned her back to him, feeling the tiles beneath her feet as she gracefully pivoted. As she memorized this cool, concrete feeling of normalcy, she refused to give Miles an inkling of vindication. She could tell he was studying her without even sparing him a glance; she knew he was trying to detect and dissect her emotions, so she wordlessly stared determinedly at the collection of dishes left in the sink before her—the result of living with four men for over a fortnight. She picked up the sponge and began a foamy, circular motion as she bit her lip trying to rid her mind of Sawyer and broken promises and meaningful glances. It was all she could do to refrain from rolling her eyes at how trivial this should all seem by now.

"So did you realize your feelings for La Fleur before or after you agreed to stay?"

She promptly dropped the sponge. She decisively refused to let him realize the effect the topic had on her, yet the question was enough to startle her out of her reverie. During her initial silence she could practically feel Miles' smirk without as much as a glimpse behind her.

"I'm sorry?" Juliet asked innocently, tilting her head slightly towards him for a second before turning her vigorous attention back to the dish at hand. He persisted.

"You haven't even packed yet," he commented, nodding his head as his mug brushed his lips.

"What are you getting at, Miles?"

"You don't need a calendar to know that it's day 14, Juliet."

At this she turned around slowly, only to be met by a rather pointed look.

"Since when did you keep track?"

"Since you stopped," he deadpanned, removing his boots from the chair. She noticed how he set his mug down quietly on the wooden table with an air of finality.

She sighed, also seeing that she was losing. Finally giving up on the dishes behind her, Juliet leaned against the sink, folding her arms in the process, and fixed him with a stoic gaze. "Miles, what's your point?"

"My point is you and Sawyer," he claimed, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "C'mon, Juliet—_'I've got your back? Just two weeks?' _I'm pretty sure the sub leaves today, and you're standing there doing the dishes like it's nothing."

Although her eyes blinked a few times in response, she initially stood there in silence. After years of mastering a blank mask, she wouldn't allow her calm demeanor to crack. There would be no point to it.

"It doesn't matter, Miles," she reasoned. "I _promised_ two weeks, and it's _been_ two weeks. John isn't coming back, so what other reasons do I have to stay here?"

He simply raised an eyebrow. "I think you know the answer to that," he told her. By now he had risen from his chair, absentmindedly tugging at a loose thread from the blue seat cushion.

"Honestly, Miles, why are you so concerned?" She felt one hand rest on her hip as the other aimlessly brushed through her strands of blonde hair.

At this, he chortled, brushing it off. "I'm not. I just don't want to see you make a huge mistake—I've seen him emotional and it's not pretty—and I do have to live with the guy."

He dismissively picked up his pack that was dangling from the back of his recently vacated chair. As he pulled it hastily across his back, glancing at his watch, he noticed her gaze had idled to the floor in silent thought. When he spoke again, the amusement was gone in his voice, replaced by a sudden seriousness that mirrored his now gentle curiosity. "You want to stay for him, huh?"

Her gaze was still directed at the lazy tan tiles, and when she spoke again, her voice had shed its icy defense and was barely above a whisper.

"I never—it's not," she sighed and shook her head yet again, frustrated at her own uncertainty. "I don't know."

When she looked back up at Miles, he was nodding to her mutely, adjusting the shoulder straps of his backpack. In his silence, she returns to the sink, staring at nothing in particular as she grasps a new dish, a little tighter than she normally would, forcefully scrubbing at the remnants.

"Maybe," he says when he finally speaks. "You should figure the answer to that out before you end up smashing all the dishes to bits."

As if on cue, a porcelain bowl slipped from her fingers and clunked resoundingly at the bottom of the drain. Miles dropped any remnants of a smirk, his eyes softening in turn.

"I wouldn't worry too much, Juliet—you guys fit—flirty banter and all."

He let himself reach the door before adding, "It's a little sickening how well, actually. Plus, look at it this way: it has only been two weeks."

"Trust me, it's been longer than you can imagine." They share a quiet look before his attention turns back to his wristwatch.

"I have to go," he realizes quickly, his gaze swiftly eyeing the clock above the sink as well. She watched as his hand rested the knob. "So I'll see you later?"

He paused before opening the door, glancing at her uncertainly in the sunlight that was streaming in through the window, casting a scattered glow around her.

"Of course," she heard herself say on command.

She felt a seemingly reassuring smile that didn't quite reach her eyes automatically plaster itself onto her face. She sighed, watching the door shut behind him. Her smile soon slipped from her features as her eyes, like Miles' had moments before, fixated on the time. Briskly drying her hands on a nearby dishrag, Juliet sighed and headed towards the bedroom Sawyer had insisted she take.

* * *

The sun was nearly setting and the crowds of Dharma workers had already begun to filter back into their homes—Sawyer no exception. This was his first honest-to-God job (for the most part) and after dealing with Phil and Jerry for 10 hours straight, he had never been more inclined to lounge on the couch with a book and a beer in his life.

He could hear his roommates' hushed chatter before he even reached the porch. Unlocking the door, he blindly trudged and slumped himself into the nearest empty seat at the kitchen table in fatigue. He didn't notice Miles and Jin, both leaning against the counters, had ceased their conversation, as Dan simply watched him from their suede couch. Unceremoniously untying a bootlace, Sawyer looked up.

"Whatcha staring at, Whiz Kid?"

At Daniel's continued silence, Sawyer's eyes darted back to Miles and Jin as they both shifted uncomfortably. He looked around the room as well, wondering what was missing. His eyes settled in the direction of the hallway. Juliet. He had a fleeting thought that maybe she was working late, but his mind soon settled on an important fact he had forgotten: It had been two weeks today.

He glanced around at his roommates' faces.

"Son of a bitch—don't tell me she—" As the sudden panic began to seep in, Jin had been the one to step forward calmly.

"She's gone, Sawyer," he admitted quietly, a look of regret crossing his features.

And with that, Sawyer was up and out the door in record time.

**Reviews are love!**


	2. Defense Mechanisms

**a/n: First of all I have to say thank you to all of your wonderful reviews—I didn't anticipate the reception and I'm very grateful for it. Hopefully this next chapter doesn't seem too bad in comparison :p**

**

* * *

  
**

_**Chapter 2: Defense Mechanisms**_

Although this may go without saying, James had never really considered himself a 'people person'. He knew how to read them—how to anger them, how to trick them, how to—all of the above. Despite evidence supporting the contrary, he never really asked to be who he was—neither a killer _nor_ a conman—even if the denial was better than dealing, even if both of the facades, at some point, ended up becoming his reality.

In all honesty, he didn't really know how to let himself be anything else. It was safer this way; there was a haven in being hated, a comfort in being kept at a distance, a sense of security in being 'Sawyer'. And if he truly thought about it, he knew a fragment of his eight-year-old self still clung to his mindset; he _needed_ to be despised—at least that way nobody would ever think to get near him—to witness him waver, to scratch past the surface. That way he would never again have to experience the sheer, heartbreaking burden of losing something, because nothing would ever come close enough to touch him.

And if only for a moment, he was invincible.

This island had tested him beyond reason, beyond everything, but nothing seemed to pierce him deeper than his own damn feelings. Like many of his fellow castaways (dead or alive, here or home), he never predicted how much he'd evolve—or rather, just how much of those aforementioned feelings would spill into broad daylight.

He let himself care, and no matter how much he'd deny it or how many countless times he'd chide himself for that first mistake, for that pure human weakness—he truly let these people matter to him, and watched as they all seemed to slip from his fingers.

Although in the past he may have wished Juliet gone (a tentative time in between taser-induced seizures and baby-napping schemes), they now dealt with whatever this temperamental island dished at them together. He counted on her presence. After that night on the docks, he never considered he'd really have to deal with the actuality of her leaving. He had had a hopeful inkling that maybe she'd be the one to stay. And now that the prospect of truly never seeing her again was rapidly becoming a reality, he never anticipated this feeling. This raw pain. Was it just blind hope after all?

God, he wished he could just turn numb already.

The sun was just setting on the horizon, it's blinding red beams descending into the ocean by the time the beginning of the docks came into his view. As his heavy footfalls made their way towards the island's edge, he felt the breeze blow back his unkempt locks. And as he neared the pier, he cursed himself, cursed this place, and cursed his goddamn feelings.

He let himself grow too accustomed to seeing her daily. He let himself count on that sole expectation, that unforeseen comfort in her presence—seeing her when he woke up, seeing her before he fell asleep.

When the soft sound of his feet hitting the blades of grass morphed into the reverberations of boots against wooden planks, his pace unbelievably quickened. When he reached the end of the docks, hearing the dull creak below him and seeing nothing but the clear ocean in front of him, his stomach churned anxiously.

The sub was scheduled to have left merely minutes ago.

Did he really miss his chance to try to convince her to stay (again)? Or even miss the opportunity to merely say goodbye?

His breath hitched in his throat. His head ached. His vision blurred. And as much as he hated to admit it, felt everything all over again: His parents were dead. The _Kahana_ was up in smoke. Kate was leaving. Claire was missing. Anthony Cooper was a dick.

And just as he was about to build his tired old walls back up again, just as he thought the world had finally gone spinning off its wretched axis, he heard a hiccup to his left. Registering the noise, his head whipped in that direction.

If it had been any other day, under any other circumstances, he would've been amused at what his eyes found there—instead of an awful combination of relief, apprehension, and familiarity.

There was Juliet.

And there was yet another form of alcoholic beverage in her reaches.

He took a moment to release the breath he didn't remember holding before he approached her. She didn't seem to be registering his presence anyway. His mask back up (aside from his eyebrows knitted in wary confusion), he strolled in her direction as if there were no questions burning behind his gaze.

"What, no note?" he quipped, simply standing beside her and staring down at her curious form, masking his utter relief that she was in fact still there as he did so.

"I didn't take you as the sentimental type, James," she replies before tilting her head backwards as she brought the bottle to her lips for another swig, cringing slightly at the taste of the alcohol as it trickled into her mouth, but swallowing it nonetheless.

"This a new habit of yers?" He nods towards the red wine she had clutched in her hands. She ignores the question as she eyes the bottle.

"Courtesy of the _Galaga _crew," she announces in a proud, slight slur, an octave higher than her normal tone, lifting the glass bottle in the air and extending it towards the waves of the ocean.

"You know, I watched that same sub being blown up 30 years in the future—by a John Locke," she starts, speaking in an airy voice that wasn't exactly hers. "The same John who claims he's going to save us all. Funny, huh?"

He shakes his head and sighs in response.

"This seat taken?" he questions her as the shadows of the set sun begin to surround them.

"Since when do you ask first?" She barely managed to roll her eyes as she gestures for him to take a seat.

"Since yer a few sips away from a hangover," he retorts as he sits, resting his elbows on his bended knees.

"Oh, do you want some?" she asks, as if she just remembered the bottle in her hands. "It's not Merlot, but it'll do the trick…"

She smirks as he shakes his head, declining the offer from her outstretched hand.

"That's a first," she muses in a quiet breath as she raises and tips the bottle once more, but before her lips can even touch the rim, he grabs the bottom, holding it firmly still.

"I think you've had enougha that, Boozy," he chided, his Southern drawl thick. She raises an eyebrow and quickly snatches the wine out of his reaches in defiance, but refrains from taking another sip.

He let a quiet moment go by."Now, wanna tell me what yer doin' out here?

"Didn't think sitting here warranted an explanation—" Her voice was rough in amusement as she dangled her legs, which were clad in shorts, off the wooden pier. She refused to look in his direction.

"I mean why ya almost left."

"Why I almost left, or why I didn't?" She turns now, daring a look.

"Either is fair game, Blondie."

When their wary glances finally made contact, she was all blue eyes and soft frowns, all hidden insecurities. Like he was. As his attention fully turned back from the nearby grass to her nearby gaze, he realized her smirk was gone now and the lazy, snarky amusement in her eyes was replaced by the most poignant sadness. Tears just beyond the brim, his breath hitched yet again; he had never seen her, the queen of pretenses, cry before.

"I don't know," she admitted, her voice raw with emotion. She could feel the fight in her trickling away, dissolving under the stars they now sat beneath. "I don't even know where to begin."

"I'm all ears."

"I mean look at me, I'm a mess," she gestured with one hand, the other absentmindedly still clutching that bottle.

"Yeah, well, I don't have the greatest track record either, Blondie."

About to give in, she felt something urging her fight him back. It was as if something snapped, something was hurling its last defenses forward in protection.

Was it the vulnerability or the alcohol?

She bit her lip in frustration before speaking.

"Why are you even out here, James? You have no obligation. No ties. And up until a month or so ago you didn't even like me." She felt her eyes narrow themselves.

"Juliet—"

"Why does me being here even _matter_ to you?" His mouth opened in response as she continued. "Are you that afraid of being alone?"

At that, he paused. He felt the anger surface at her stubborn seclusion. Did she really have no idea what it was like not even ten minutes ago, with him hurdling himself down this very dock looking for her?

If she wanted to push him away, didn't want to explain herself, then neither did he.

"Well I just can't seem to help myself, can I? Guess I have a thing for troubled women," he heard himself hiss. "But I must say, it's damn near refreshin' to see some emotion from you every once in awhile. As pleasant as it is."

He inwardly grimaced as soon as he let his default aggression slip in word-form, guilt seeping in as her face drop unbelievably further.

For a second she contemplated furthering the conversation, retorting with something else, but there was this feeling in the pit of her stomach, this flicker of fight left in her that hated how meek she sounded mere seconds ago—this feeling that despised nosebleeds and dynamite and death, that loathed ex-husbands and unrequited feelings— hated every last vulnerable thing about her.

"Well I guess we can't all keep it held together as bravely as you, James," came her quiet, cold reply. "Really glad I stayed for this, by the way," she added quickly, huffing a little in anger.

The seconds passed, and without thinking she wobbled to her feet and had began to trudge back towards their Dharma house, leaving Sawyer scrambling to his own two feet in her wake.

"Now wait a second, I didn't mean it like tha—"

His plea cut short as his vision worked against him. Sawyer squinted at the space in front of him, barely making out her outline in the darkness as she staggered further away from where he was standing anxiously under the dim moonlight. His movements halted as he heard a sudden crashing noise a few yards away—a mixture of shattering glass and a strained yelp.

Without hesitation, his feet picked up the pace.

Frantically searching the darkness ahead of him, his heartbeat hastening like his boots, he ran until he felt himself nearly stumble over her lying form.

When he reached her, he squinted and saw the shards of the wine bottle beneath her on the concrete walkway; saw the green glass glitter in the moonlight; saw as she noticed his presence in anger; saw as she still stubbornly tried to prop herself up to add the distance back between them, even as she cried out in pain, even as blood trickled from the soles of her feet and the sides of left leg, staining the ground beneath them both.

"Just leave me alone, James," she hissed almost inaudibly as he reached out to her on instinct.

He stood there for a moment, frustrated by her stubbornness. A split second later he moved again.

"Like hell I will," he replied through gritted teeth, firmly scooping her up into his arms before she could protest.

* * *

By the time he reached their house, she had passed out (from pain or sadness or a pure drunken stupor he could not determine). When he burst through the front door without so much as a warning knock, their roommates were all situated on the couch seemingly discussing him and the blonde now currently limp in his arms.

"Hey, La Fleur—" Miles' words swiftly dissolved into silence as he registered the scene in front of him.

All three of them rushed to their feet without hesitation as droplets of Juliet's blood began decorating the tiles of the kitchen floor.

* * *

_**TBC**_

**Thanks for reading! Hopefully you enjoyed it—please bear with me, folks.**

**Reviews are love!**


	3. This Fine Progression

**Author's Note: Thank you for the reviews! I love hearing feedback and you guys are simply wonderful. I know I have the tendency to switch tenses; I tried to fix that this time. I'll probably make it a few more chapters, more or less—I guess we'll see where I take this lol. Enjoy.**

**

* * *

**

_**Chapter 3: This Fine Progression**_

Miles grew up distrusting love, deeming the hope of it trivial, pointless. It's not that he denied its existence (sometimes he swore he caught a glimpse of it in the way his mother would serenely look at him), he just never had a prime example to personally believe in; his father was gone, and his mother died alone.

What was concrete, though, was money. It was a simple equation: the more you had of it, the more you benefited. It was a definite outcome compared to the chances you could take on love. This seemed less painful. This seemed more rewarding. He didn't have to guess with money, he didn't have to put his heart out on the line, and he didn't have to feel so alone (or at least with wads of cash stacked up to break his fall, it was easier to deny it altogether).

He didn't hate his mother. It wasn't a fact he would refute after he evolved past his angst-filled adolescence, because he saw how difficult this world had been for her, saw how lonesome the cards were she was dealt. He does regret that he didn't realize that sooner, writhing in the wake of his own confusion, his own remote pain. She was a true fighter, though—he'd give her that, but she would never understand him. A piece of her would always be afraid of him and what she could never comprehend—supernatural, or just pure human nature.

It was curious, how strong the yearning was for a little boy to know who his father was. It was curious, how someone could be given the mysterious gift to touch and to know, and they would end up feeling as isolated as the cold corpses they could communicate with.

He began using his 'powers' for his own benefit when he was sixteen. If the world wouldn't appreciate him, then he'll take all he can get—trick the vulnerable, bend the truth, and perhaps gain a hefty fortune from it all—as if he'll receive comfort from that, as if he'll win some sort of righteous prize he was owed for feeling so misunderstood in the first place.

When he came to this island, he didn't expect much. Hell, when he signed up he was indifferent to whatever was in store for him as long as the cash was involved.

And then he remembered a change, remembered a feeling, remembered the spirit of a boy named Karl wondering if the girl he loved had survived. Although skeptical and indifferent in the past, maybe love once existed here. And maybe, he thought as he observed the daily progression of Juliet and Sawyer—bickering and reluctant companionship all at once—maybe, it could again. As much as he never cared to get involved, as he watched her inward battle this morning, he thought that maybe it existed.

Hope, that is.

* * *

"How is she?" Miles inquired as he easily trekked up the couple steps from the grass to the porch of the infirmary.

It was nearing past midnight and he stayed behind in their house with Dan and Jin as Sawyer went ahead with bringing her here at Jin's suggestion. After carrying her in, they were adamant that Sawyer was stay out here and wait until further notice. Miles could tell he didn't like that order one bit.

"I don't know. Maybe if Nurse Betty here would quit tryin' to shoo me away, I'd have an answer for ya," Sawyer quipped, nodding to the on-call nurse standing in front of the double doors.

As Rosie, who probably would've let him in by now if she wasn't being supervised, fixed them with an apologetic glance and opened her mouth to timidly comment, a young doctor with brown hair and wiry glasses stepped in front of her.

"I'm sorry sir, but she's just following policy. It's past visiting hours and facility regulations clearly state I cannot permit you to stay if you are not blood related or legally married." He stated straight from handbook context, as if rehearsed in front of a mirror.

As soon as Sawyer opened his mouth to retort, Miles was between him and the doctor, a palm firmly preventing Sawyer from stepping forward and effectively silencing him for the time being.

"Look, Dr—" Miles let his eyes flick abruptly downwards to the intern's nametag. "—Reynolds. I know that it's late and you're just trying to do your job, but we just need to see how our friend is doing." Miles spoke in a controlled calm as Sawyer trudged a few feet away, muttering to himself about where exactly they could shove their facility regulations.

"Your friend?" The doctor lifted an eyebrow.

"Friend, crewmember, platonic female companion—what have you."

Dr. Reynolds didn't seem amused or compliant. Miles could see why Sawyer had short-circuited with him so quickly. "So that's your relation to her?" It came out more like a curt bit of sarcasm than a question.

Sawyer piped up behind Miles at the doctor's doubtful glance.

"What? Ya wanna signature in blood?" Sawyer sneered at him and his too-big glasses. "Well, I'm afraid all our customized pens perished in the boat crash along with our friendship certificates."

Miles closed his eyes for a split second in amusement. Maintaining composure, he bit back a smirk and briskly turned around to give him a warning look as if to say _'Shut up, man, I can handle this one.' _Rosie's doe-like stare seemed to be switching back and forth from the intern to Sawyer. Miles lowered his voice.

"If you can only let one of us in, let it be him," Miles suggested in a weary sigh as the doctor's narrowed gaze flicked back in his direction. "I think you realize he's about five seconds away from busting through those doors with or without your consent anyway."

At last, the intern relented, silently nodding the okay to Rosie, who warily asked them to wait on the porch for just another moment. As soon as the nurse and the doctor were both inside, Sawyer stalked up to him.

"What did ya shush me for? I coulda lied and told them she was my old lady or something."

Miles merely chuckled in response.

"Look man, we survived lethal flashes, somehow teleported 30 years into the past, and you two can't even decide if you like or hate each other. I think our back stories are complicated enough without throwing holy matrimony into the mix."

Instead of sneering on instinct, Sawyer simply smirked gratefully at him before following Rosie as she beckoned him to enter. As the white doors shut behind them both, Miles began to pace upon the creaking wooden floorboards of the porch.

A split second later, Sawyer was reemerging from the double doors.

"What? Don't tell me you're scared. I swear, La Fleur, if I have to hold your hand along the way—"

"Oh shut up, Bruce. The stupid doc's gone off duty. Nurse Betty said we can both head on back there."

Miles mumbled slightly in a response that sounded a lot like a feeble _'oh'_, blinking as he followed Sawyer in.

The infirmary seemed like a typical, sterile institution, filled with stale air, rows of empty cotton-mattress cots, and green cupboards full of unused medical supplies.

"Go ahead," Miles urges him, signaling Sawyer to go forward and check on her as he idles by the door once they're inside. He nods once to him as Miles takes a seat in a waiting chair placed against the wall.

As he watches Sawyer amble in past the row of beds, his vision is momentarily obscured as a woman with long dark hair takes a seat next to him. She seems to be lost in thought and he barely looks at her until she turns his way.

It was his mother, Lara.

* * *

"This is really unnecessary. I don't need more than some simple gauze—the bleeding stopped and I didn't even fracture anything," Juliet asserts in a quick slur, half trying to raise herself as Rosie fumbles with her bandages, urging her to lay down against the gurney.

"I know, Ms. Carlson, but we had to surgically remove the glass. This warrants a bit of rest on your part. Now if you could please lie down—"

Sawyer couldn't help but smile a little that she tried to fight sitting still, even when she's half subdued by anesthetics, even when he's sure she probably can't walk all that well. He observed as she let out a sigh that sounded a lot like defeat and settled back down against the white sheets. It took a moment for the pair to realize he's standing there.

He silently takes the chair Rosie offers him before she exits, scooting it tentatively closer to the edge of her bed as Juliet stares at the ceiling in silence.

"How are you doing?" he asks quietly, fidgeting slightly, his fingers tapping out a silent tune upon her blanket.

"Better," she replies hazily, her voice raspy and her eyes seemingly studying a spot on the stucco.

"Better?" he repeats, an amused tone catching in his throat as he looks at her clearly, her blonde curls falling haphazardly out of its hasty bun.

"Well, drunk and bitter aren't exactly what I'd call seeing me at my best," she counters and bites back any signs of a smile, finally mustering the courage to make subtle eye contact.

"Yeah, well," he breaks off, and his voice soon settles and he pauses for a moment in thought. "Look," he starts, a little unsure of himself. "If you felt like I was makin' ya stay here—"

"Who said you had that kind of power over me, James?" Juliet deadpans, and Sawyer gapes at her for a moment in surprise before letting out a breath that sounded somewhere in between a sigh and a chuckle.

"You're insufferable you know that?"

"Yeah. You're insufferable too, James," She says lightly, a gentle glow in her sleepy gaze that wasn't there a moment ago. She can feel the medicine lulling her to sleep now, beckoning her to close her eyes. He shakes his head as if considering her statement, leaning back in his chair with a subtle smirk on his face. He placed a hand gently on hers.

"Okay," he mutters vaguely, as if momentarily accepting her silent proposal to not bring up anything serious—not missed subs, not apologies—as if to say for right now none of it matters, just that she's alright.

"Okay," she agrees softly as her eyes finally close themselves. He leaves his hand on hers, hesitant to move. As the pad of his thumb begins to make gentle circles around her knuckles he remains sitting there staring as she drifts off to unconsciousness, leaving him unsure of what this all really means.

* * *

**Reviews are love.**


	4. The Instant

**Author's Note: Again, thanks for the reviews! Sorry it took me awhile to get this chapter up. Enjoy!**

**

* * *

**

_**Chapter 4: The Instant**_

When Juliet tried to reminisce back to her childhood, she found that a good portion of it was wiped clean from her memory, only to be replaced with broken hearts, broken families, and the image of her dad packing his bags and leaving one night.

Aside from Rachel, she felt like the true, ideal sense of family she had come to depend on was stripped away in an instant— a vulnerable, unforeseen, needing instant.

Even when she had been so immersed in saving her sister, so immersed in pretending it didn't bother her when Edmund screwed anything with a pulse, she couldn't help but be filled with this nagging sense that she'll never win back that feeling of complete family, not even when (or maybe it was because?) she was older and was supposed to know better.

"Oh c'mon, that was an easy one," Miles quips, leaning backwards in a chair in the infirmary, swatting a hand in exasperation as he regarded Jin, who was fidgeting quite crossly in a seat along the partition.

"Miles, he's not going to learn with you badgering him," Juliet chided lightly, sitting up in her hospital bed, carefully making sure she didn't lay on her injured side.

"Well, he's not going to learn if he doesn't sound it out," Miles adds unnecessarily, only half serious. Jin was not amused.

It had been a few blurry days after her glass incident and it wasn't long before the blank walls of the infirmary annoyed her as much as her inability to exist without doubting her own sanity, without wondering what she was still doing here did. Detesting the reverse role of being the patient, Juliet found taking a few days off to 'recuperate' was maddening and was only partially eased when her roommates used their free time to check in on her. At least Miles had stopped teasing her and fueling her embarrassment for the time being. Much like today, their visits often ended with a haphazard English lesson from Miles that may have ticked both him and Jin off, but certainly amused Juliet.

A genuine smile spread across her face as she studied Jin's furrowed eyebrows and top lip curled in indignation. In a sudden gruff movement, he had gotten up and trudged away from the two of them, cursing in Korean at his inability to pronounce 'Radzinsky'. She subdued a laugh as Miles rose to call him back. Bringing her knuckles to rest calmly under her chin, she continued to smile brightly for the first time in a couple days, almost unaware of it herself.

"Say, Julie, what's your story," a deep, would-be charming voice above her starts, breaking her concentration on the scene at hand. Bethany, the on-call nurse, had taken the vacant opportunity to swoop to her side to change her bandages and strikes up what she considers to be a conversation. "You're on some boat adventure with four men and you happen to be romantically detached from each of them?"

This was definitely the last question she wanted to answer.

"And how about that Jim? He's certainly a looker," she adds in a girly gush at her silence. Juliet refrained from rolling her eyes as she took back her last thought.

"They both lost someone in the wreck," she replies evenly after a moment, staring disinterestedly at the wall ahead.

"Oh." For a moment a hint of pity is seen flicking across Bethany's features, although it disappears as quickly as it came. "What about that one? What's his story?" Her auburn curls bounce slightly as she nods clear across the room, where Miles, in the midst of Mission: Coax-Jin-Back-Into-His-Seat, has his eyes curiously and somewhat apprehensively glued to the Asian woman who slipped in through the door for the third time that week, her name escaping Juliet. She had asked the nurse on her second night here why she kept coming in, and apparently this woman, an elite scientist, was having trouble conceiving with her husband. Juliet had to remind herself of her 'retirement' and refrain from asking any further questions.

Juliet turned her face back to the woman in front of her, her eyes lingering a second longer on Miles in slight concern. She made a mental note to ask him about it later. Once her attention was fully turned back to Beth and her inquiries, however, an unnamed emotion took over.

For a second she was tempted to mention ghosts and the living dead. "Trust me, you don't want to know," she replies with a curt, plastered smile that could be taken lightly, as Beth indeed receives it, but Juliet knows better. She always does.

As she watches the nurse's retreating form, Juliet was left to sooth her growing annoyance and ponder when exactly she began considering the men she shares her standard yellow house with her family.

* * *

An hour later they had all drifted off to sleep (the nurses had long since given up on enforcing visiting hours), including Jin situated back in his seat in the corner (in a chair shifted pointedly away from Miles), with a cheek slumped against his fist. Miles had ended up on the opposite end of her bed again, face down upon the magazine sprawled atop the covers with his fists placed on either side of his head, as if he fell asleep demanding something.

It wasn't long before James wandered in at the end of his Friday night shift, amused at the sight in front of him. Juliet blinked herself awake almost immediately at his entrance. His dimples grew more apparent when her gaze met his.

"Sorry to interrupt the love-fest. Nurse Betty said you can leave today."

Juliet's gaze drifted down to Miles, still snoring by her right knee. She had almost forgotten.

* * *

"You're bein' a baby," James murmurs, more amused than irritated as he shook his head, arriving at her bedroom door a few moments later with his arms secured beneath the underside of her knees and her head dangling unceremoniously upside down, over his shoulder.

"How eloquent," she wheezed, trying to blow golden locks of her unkempt hair out of her face to no avail. She found she was holding back a laugh (his ego was big enough) and grinning regardless of the blood that was definitely rushing to her head. Despite her assertions that limping a few houses down wouldn't kill her, he ended up grabbing her abruptly and hoisting her over his shoulder in jest— not only startling the nurses but forcing her to effectively lose the dispute. "I think you just enjoy picking me up and rendering me helpless."

She could feel him smiling. "What gave it away?" The grin only spreads as he hears her yelp a little as he suddenly flips her, tossing her gently onto the comforter. "I hafta admit, it's a nice change of pace. It's stiflin' havin' to always catch up to you."

Juliet runs a hand back through the strands of her hair as she finally lets a chuckle escape her lips. "I could've fought you off, you know."

"Yeah I don't doubt that, Hobbles," he laughs, patting her head as he would a child and lying down beside her on the bed.

The laughter soon dies down and as her shoulder brushes his, she feels him go suddenly rigid as if he only just realized how close they were laying. She could feel the amused confusion forming as she turned her head to look him over, his gaze barely connecting with hers. He tries to relax his stiff shoulders, fighting off the realization that he's never done this; he's never just found himself lying next to a beautiful woman without some sort of alternate motive.

"Make yourself useful," her voice coarse amusement as she nods to him. "Hand me that book on the end table would ya?"

"Sure thing, Sweetheart," his voice a tone lower than usual, clearing his throat as he gingerly extends his arm, moving away from her slightly as if he didn't trust himself with the contact.

As she extends her hand forward to grasp the bound cover she fixes him with a curious look. He pretended her blue gaze didn't throw him off guard. "What? Next you're gonna tell me ya want me to read it to ya too?"

She stares at him silently for a minute only to laugh when he lets out an exasperated grumble and clambers to a semi sitting position, snatching the book back to examine the cover.

"_East of Eden_?" He asks skeptically and she shrugs. He huffs, but she can see the amused gleam in his eyes and says nothing. "Whole lotta happiness in this book," with his eyes still fixated on the cover he gives up his haphazard quest for no contact and rests himself onto his elbows, pulling her with him.

"It could be worse," she mumbles lightly as she settles into his side.

"It could always be worse, Blondie," he replies, rolling his eyes. He watches as she plays with a loose thread from the comforter and he wished he knew what she was thinking. "Tell me something about your family," he insists softly.

She double takes and cranes her head in his direction. This wasn't the first time he's asked about her past, but it was the first time he wasn't prompted by an alcoholic beverage.

"Well unless you're not up for share and tell. I just figured you read all the high points of mine already in that dandy file o' yours."

She ignores his quip and settles back into him, searching for a memory that didn't end in some bitter twinge.

"I remember this one weekend before my dad left," her voice is quiet and her eyes are studying a spot on the ceiling. "My sister insisted painting her room this horrid shade of pink." He smiled as she wrinkled her nose at the thought. "Paint got everywhere. We were drenched in it." Her gaze turned back to his. "That was the day we found out that I was allergic to the paint primer."

He didn't know whether or not to laugh at her mock seriousness.

"That sounds terrible, Blondie."

"Yeah I was covered in hives," her voice taking a conversationalist turn. "And the funny thing is? It was probably one of the best days of my life." Her frown had turned to a fond smile. "Nobody yelled or hurt or wept. Just an ordinary day, you know?'

Juliet was met with initial silence and she regretted saying 'ordinary' seeing as he probably didn't have that either with his childhood, but he seemed to be concentrating on the slight smile that appeared when she spoke of the memory instead.

Normally he'd retort with something mocking, but he saw the seriousness in her eyes, that dormant, genuine hope and affection for a memory worlds away.

'Yeah I getcha. Stuck on an island with booby traps and smoke monsters—we all miss that normal stuff." The fingers of his left hand had absentmindedly begun playing with one of her stray curls. "Well, shackin' up in a house with runnin' water and a fridge…that's relatively normal, right?" His hand stilled as he regarded her.

"Trust me, James," she shifted a little so her back was leaning against him comfortably. "This is anything but."

"Should I be offended?" He turns his body towards her, tilting his head to the side and fixing her general direction with a look of pretend hurt.

"Always," she gently replies and smiles with her back still to him. Without really thinking, he reaches over absentmindedly tucks a stray hair behind her ear, and she finds it rather unhinging how she's it is becoming harder and harder to outwardly mask her feelings.

They both lay there in silence, forgetting the book altogether as several comfortable minutes later she looks over to find that he had fallen asleep with his arm slinked around her and although she can't exactly recall how it got there, she's not complaining.

"James," she whispers as she sits up to gingerly remove his arm from around her waist. She's quiet as she extends a hand towards him, almost instantly regretting her decision to scoot away from him, missing the feeling of his arm around her.

"Just go to sleep already," he mumbles with his eyes still closed after she nudges him a second time, startling her a little, her hand freezing in midair. This feeling is soon replaced with something else entirely and she can't help her elated, quickened breath as he lazily pulls her against his side, whining slightly as a child would at their lack of contact. She smiles in the dark.

"Goodnight James," she whispers and can't help but snuggle closer and inhale in his scent, closing her eyes in momentary contentment as she feels the warmth radiating off of him.

"Night Freckles," he mutters so faintly she would've almost missed it if she wasn't clinging to his every word.

But she did hear, and her smile had dropped in an instant.

* * *

**Reviews are love.**


	5. By Any Other Name

**Author's Note:** Sorry it took me so long to get another chapter up; I've been moving and just started college and a little bout of writer's block came back to me. I basically had the whole story written out in June or July and now I'm just trying to find which parts to refine or take out or just run with. I hate that I get all self-conscious with my submissions, so I'll try my best to finish it this month. Thanks for all the reviews and support. Enjoy!

* * *

_**Chapter 5: By Any Other Name**_

Juliet hadn't realized she had backed into the hallway until she felt her shoulders collide with the white plastered wall. She blinked and became aware of the fact that she had been staring wide-eyed at her shut bedroom door; she exhaled and also realized she had been barely breathing.

She knew she had been called a number of different things in her life, considerably on opposite ends of the spectrum. To be entirely fair, she had _been_ a number of different things—significantly more than she liked to admit, even (especially) to herself.

Three years on this island had taught her it's better to appear adapted, to appear tough—as if pretending for so long, denying for so long, will gradually turn the pretense into a twisted truth that any passersby would readily believe. To be honest, this wasn't the first time a man called her by another name _(thank you, Edmund)_, but this was the first time this unknown feeling rooted itself within her.

Whatever emotion this was, she could've sworn it felt a little like defeat.

The floorboard creaked and Juliet felt herself flinch, her reverie broken. As if on an old instinct, her mind had her body recoiling as if she'd been burnt (as if she refused to recognize that in a way she had been).

Miles had been rummaging through the refrigerator when he heard the bedroom door shut. Haphazardly prompted to investigate, he was met with the image of Juliet staring in a forlorn trance, instinctively shifting her weight to her right leg, and sighing as she leant against the nearest white wall.

He took a wary step closer and his frown increased; the Juliet he knew was never startled. He softened his approach and his casual tone masked his curiosity.

"Where are you hobbling off to now?"

Although it took a moment for her to compose herself, by the time Juliet's gaze met his, the warmth that had been penetrating through her steely norm during their few weeks together seemed to disappear, only to be replaced by something stoic, something shielding, something like a façade.

"Are you on patrol now, Miles?" Her voice was as even as his, the coolness of it as unnerving as ever.

"If I plead the 5th, will you tell me what's going on?"

"Juliet?" As if on cue, Jin's tentative voice was heard on the other side of the hall. "Everything okay?"

She shook her head slightly as she leant back against one of her palms, her fingers splayed out against the stucco as her other hand ran through her disheveled locks. The last thing she wanted to do was explain what had just happened, what was swimming through her head, what was eating her up inside.

"What he do?" Jin nodded towards Miles and before she could respond Miles' was shaking his head in defiance.

"Why do you have to assume it was me, Grandpa?"

**

* * *

**  
She found herself out on the porch, half sitting as her fingers gripped the white wooden railing, her gaze fixated towards the homes of the barracks. Even though the ideal peacefulness of it all was more stifling than anything, she wasn't exactly grateful when Miles and Jin, as expected, followed her outside a few moments later. Since both stood unmoving underneath the wooden doorframe as she stared up at midnight sky, she sensed they were debating whether or not to approach her.

"Thought you'd be asleep by now," Miles cleared his throat in her silence as he neared her side. Jin had his arms carefully folded, watching the pair from behind. "Any particular reason why you're out here?"

Initially, her face remained blank and determinedly faced forward as a light breeze blew a few curls past her cheeks; he was unsure she had even heard him.

"Is this your way of asking me what's wrong?"

Her voice was cold, and he suddenly felt self-conscious for caring and turned to leave her in charge of her own hell. "Hey, I'm just trying to see if I could help. If you'd rather get drunk and mangled again be my guest."

He stopped as she put a hand to her forehead.

"Sawyer," she breathed in a small voice, the name feeling unfamiliar on her tongue. "He said her nickname in his sleep." She paused, leant her head against the porch frame, and felt rather foolish. "He thought I was her." Miles then opened his mouth in slight confusion, only to promptly close it as she continued to speak. There was this raw vulnerability in her voice he was sure only a rare few had witnessed. "I don't know what I'm still doing here, Miles…I feel like if I give in and stay it'll always be about her."

Her brow seemed to furrow in a vinegary, vindicating mix of self-deprecation, wry amusement, and sorrow, and Miles was left to ponder just how broken a person could get. "Who?"

For the first time she seemed to directly regard him; she tilted her chin and her blue eyes connected with his as the name came almost unwillingly out.

"Kate." Jin's eyes suddenly flicked to her in curiosity.

"Kate…the buff, daddy-killing brunette?" She gave him a look.

"What? I'm just clarifying." She seemed to smile a little to herself as she stared at the grass, and he took it as a good sign. "You know," he nodded once for emphasis after a few moments as he leant against the railing, facing her, "When you told me you were an Other or whatever—I didn't believe it."

She didn't know if she was supposed to believe him or not.

"Why, because I wasn't there when the mercenaries came?"

She suddenly thought of Alex, and her voice came out softer than she originally intended.

"Yeah, that…and because of the way you were with him. You were one of the only people who wouldn't take his bullshit, but were the first to console him when Locke fell."

He took her silence as an invitation to keep talking.

"Hey, want to know something funny?"

She could do nothing but stare now.

"I almost left on that sub, too."

Her mouth couldn't help but open slightly in disbelief; with all the tension that had sprung up between her and James over this sub issue, it hadn't occurred to either one of them that she wasn't the only one thinking of leaving this odd group they had formed.

"Why didn't you say anything, Miles?"

He smirked at her puzzlement and shrugged. He turned away from her and leant forward against the railing on his forearms and clasped his hands together in thought.

"Because this isn't about me," he murmured, and Juliet's eyes softened. "You know, maybe this—our whole existence here in Dharmaland—maybe it doesn't have to be about our pasts. If it was, from what you told me, you'd be the mole, Jin would be crushing skulls, and Sawyer would be the bad-tempered hick."

She could tell from his smirk that he believed that the last statement was still partially true.

"Then what is this about exactly?"

"Right now?" He flashed her a smirk. "Mostly you two."

Juliet simply stared. Maybe Miles had a point after all.

* * *

**_To be Continued.._**

**Another little calm before the storm. There's probably just a smidgen more Juliet and Miles camaraderie and Miles' mama-drama to come. Don't worry folks— the James/Juliet confrontation is almost here.**

**Reviews are love!**


	6. The Fight I've Come To Like

**Author's Note: Wow. I really don't know what took me so long to update...I already had this chapter written out months ago. Anyway, considering the season premiere is on Tuesday, I wanted to finish this ASAP before I get all distracted and whatnot again. Hope some of my readers are still out there lol. And I changed the title because I decided I hated it and it didn't fit all that well. Hope you guys don't mind haha  
**

* * *

**_Chapter 6: The Fight I've Come To Like_**

"So…you can communicate with the dead."

Juliet is sitting on the kitchen floor with her legs crossed and a spoon in her hand. Miles is lounging across from her, leaning back against the counter behind him, his own spoon currently dipping in the ice cream carton they're sharing. He had been the one to suggest this; when she had teased him he only vaguely retorted that this was something his mother always did when she felt like crap. He also pointed out that it's better she stays away from the booze. She had dropped any further protests.

"Something like that."

She stares for a moment. Surviving on this island for the past three years has taught her to keep a vastly open mind—especially when things like smoke monsters, time travel, and world-saving-button-pressing are factored in, but some things never get easier to readily believe.

"Hey, don't look at me like that. I can hear the dead, what can you do?"

"I used to be a fertility doctor," she supplies calmly before smirking a little. "And I'm pretty sure I can kill you with my brain."

"Fair enough," he muses, considering her with a light scoff before passing the carton back to her. "But a fertility doctor? Didn't see that one coming."

"What did you think I was?"

"Not sure. Your badassness with fire arms kinda throws me off, but I'm pretty sure you were like a cheerleader or something in high school."

"Try secretary of the Science Club."

He stares blankly back at her for a moment.

"They had secretaries?"

"Shut up and eat your ice cream, Miles."

She's smiling a little as she regards him. She finds it a little odd how surprisingly easy it is to confide in Miles; he doesn't bullshit, he doesn't expect anything, and for the most part, he seems to really listen—no matter how hard he tries to get everybody to believe the contrary.

As she sets her spoon down, she remembers what she had meant to ask him the other day.

"Who is that woman?"

His head picks up and he flashes her another blank stare.

"What woman?"

"The Asian woman from the infirmary. You get this look on your face whenever she's around."

At his silence she adds in mock-seriousness, "Do you have yourself a Dharma-crush, Miles?"

He wrinkles his nose in sheer disgust. She arches an eyebrow.

"You have no idea how wrong that is."

"So?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Juliet."

"Miles—"

"Trust me, it doesn't even matter—"

"Miles—"

"And hey, maybe my face just looks like that on default. Maybe I should take offense to—"

"_Miles—"_

"Alright! She's my mother, okay?" He exhales and leans back again. "Have you always been this pushy?"

She recovers a little from the shock to regard him a gentle smile and a steady voice.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"You wanna talk about Sawyer some more?"

He's still uneasy but takes her equally flustered demeanor as a sign of victory.

"Didn't think so."

He watches her trace invisible shapes on the tiles before he speaks again.

"It's getting late, Juliet—don't you think you should get some sleep?"

She opens her mouth, but sure enough Miles puts his hand up to silence her, as if he already knows what she was going to struggle to say.

"You can crash in my bunk tonight if you want—I have to head out soon for graveyard shift anyway," Miles responds casually, as if it's something she would do on a regular basis. "But I can assure you, La Fleur will be harassing me soon enough wondering what's up with you."

She responds with a smile despite how she currently feels.

As she's gently closing the door behind her as to not wake Jin, she ponders how curious it is that fate, or whatever one would choose to call it on this island, had brought them all together. She's also a little bothered that she's not bothered by how she finds a sense of home in being in the company of four men that couldn't be any more unalike even if they tried.

She feels her eyes willingly shut as soon as her head hits the pillow.

She thinks of Sawyer and Kate and as she predicts, morning comes too soon.

* * *

Sawyer finds himself confused.

Ever since he'd woken up alone that morning, she hadn't spoken or been able to make eye contact with him in the past few days, and with the sub coming in soon, he felt an annoyingly uncontrollable anxiety creep back into his system.

More than a little fed up, he corners Miles during their shift, who just stares at him for a moment. His prediction had been correct.

"What, are you going to jump me?"

He scoffs and ignores the look he's giving him. Sawyer stares at the ground for a moment before speaking in a slightly subdued voice.

"She ain't leavin', is she?"

To his credit, Miles manages to not roll his eyes.

"How many times must we go over this? She said she'd stay, so she'll stay."

"So she's just not gonna speak to me, is that it?"

Miles crosses his arms in front of him and surveys the image of a disgruntled Sawyer standing in front of him. The side of his mouth twitches in amusement.

"What are you, twelve? Man up, La Fleur."

"Watch it, Ghengis," he practically growls and Miles simply rolls his eyes this time. "Since you two seem to be buddy-buddy these days, will you tell me what the hell has her so damn peeved?"

"You talk in your sleep," Miles retorts bluntly, watching, as Sawyer just looks even more confused.

"What?"

He looks like he wants to laugh, unsure if Miles is joking or not. He reconsiders when Miles remains staring.

"I don't remember sayin' anything…"

"Of course you don't."

"Now what's that supposed to mean?"

Miles sighs as he takes a seat in one of the office chairs. This might take awhile.

"You're saying that you honestly don't know the answer to that?"

"Oh so it's my fault she got herself drunk and injured and hates people who babble in their sleep so apparently now she's descended the cone of silence? Well shit, that solves everything, thank you for the insight, Short Round."

Instead of being aggravated too, Miles smirks at the quick rate Sawyer's words are coming up.

"Look, what the hell did I say—that I'm gonna kill her or something else equally ridic—"

"Freckles. You said Freckles. Personally, I think it's a shitty nickname but hey—"

Sawyer's stunned look turns into a death glare as he processes what Miles' is saying.

"I'm just calling things as I see them," Miles says now, rising from the chair. "For the record, I'm not the one who mutters other girls' names while I sleep. And I'm not the one who has her convinced she'll always be second best, even with you."

He doesn't even wait for Miles to walk away before he's out the door first.

* * *

As usual, he finds her in the motorpool. Healing pretty quickly, she had been back to work for the past couple days; now he takes her eagerness to hone her mechanic skills as a reason to not be in the same house as him. Her head picks up from the manual she's studying with a determined fervor, only to stare at him with those unnervingly blue eyes of hers.

"Can I help you with something, Jim?"

He sputters, bothered not only by her arctic gaze, but that name coming evenly from her lips.

"I—Can you not call me that?"

"Why not? Everyone does—that _is_ your name."

"Not you."

She stands there staring for a moment, unable to decide what she wants to do—stay, leave, or slap that silly stare off his face. Instead, she sighs.

"Miles told me what I said."

"I figured you didn't remember," she replies coolly, already turning her attention back to the engine at her station. He wasn't sure what to say to that. Before he can come up with anything to respond with, she's calmly setting down the rag in her hands and attempting to walk away.

"Hey, don't go leavin' on me. Honestly, Blondie, I don't remember sayin—"

"Let go, James," she warns, snatching her arm from his grip and narrowing her eyes.

One look and he drops her hand; her tone is enough to stop him dead in his tracks, but he won't let her win that easily.

"It's a damn nickname," he exclaims with a gesture, confused as to why she's so bothered. "If you haven't noticed I got one for everybody—"

"Yes, James, and Blondie is just so endearing in comparison."

He freezes, staring at her in helpless exasperation as she pulls the bandana from her head to tiredly rake her fingers through her hair.

"Can you just tell me what's the matter? I can't get squat done with you descendin' your damn cone of silence."

She let out a dry laugh, despite of herself. She doesn't respond otherwise, and he takes this as a cue to keep talking.

"I didn't ask for this. To be put in this situation. It's this goddamn island. I deal with what it gives me."

"And I don't?" she asks, her perfectly arched eyebrow already in place.

"Look, I'm not gonna stand here and play 'who has the shittier life' with you. It's an old game, trust me."

"Then don't."

She turns her back to him again, and he tries not to feel defeated.

"We're a team, Juliet."

He cringes at his own words and the hostile look she turns around with.

"Let's face it, Sweetheart. We're in this together. Maybe I can't help what comes out of this mouth of mine, but what I know is we're a team. We can tear each other down all we want, but at the end of the day we have each other's backs."

"Wouldn't want to inconvenience you."

Juliet looked at him, and then looked down at his hand that had ended up on her shoulder. She said nothing; for the life of her, something inside her didn't want to give in, didn't want to admit that maybe she was okay with this too.

"I'll be honest—I think about her sometimes."

She gives him a look. "Okay, a lot of the time."

_How could he not?_ Once they were done running for their lives, there was nothing to do but wait. Wait and lay awake thinking about her. Lie awake and miss her, even if she was the one always running away.

Her eyes remain strewn downwards, her hands trying to keep busy, as her face remains neutral. She knew she should give him the benefit of the doubt; he didn't ask for this fate any more than she did.

"Are you tryin' to tell me you don't think of the Doc sometimes?"

Her face is stone as she fixes him with a look.

"Everyone at that beach camp knew how _Mission Impossible _you two were together. You were the Sodom to his friggin' Gomorrah. That's why Kate came bargin' in my tent in the first place..."

Her movements pause at that. He is acknowledging that they both had lost someone and for the first time he wasn't denying it, he was trying to admit it. She knows he was right, knows that they can only deny for so long before being run down by their own ghosts, but she didn't trust herself to speak. At least, not to bite back a lame comeback or to crumble completely.

"I don't care whose name I said. I ain't denyin' it – no real need to. You were there when the world went white…she wasn't."

She finds herself shaking her head. "I can't play a poor man's version of Kate to every man I meet, James."

"Am I askin' you to?"

She gives him another look.

"You think that's why I asked you to stay," he mutters to himself, barely realizing it came out more like a statement than a real question.

She doesn't respond, but he sees her gaze shift uncomfortably in the silence.

"C'mon, Juliet," he all but spits, his voice a dangerous octave of a whisper. "You can stand here and pretend to be a damn robot, or you can talk to me."

The irritation from this basically one-sided conversation begins brimming to the surface, and he makes himself pause. He takes a moment to collect himself, which is something he wouldn't normally do, but he knows he won't get through to her otherwise.

"I didn't mean…" he sighs, trying to find the words. "What matters right now is that I need you on my side or this can all go to hell. And that's all I know where to start from."

If she had better control, she'd choose to not listen to him, but lately she found herself hanging off every word he said. Even when it hurt. Her eyes remain focused on his boots, and she tries not to think that his words echoed and reminded her suspiciously of Miles'.

"It's suffocating."

"Come again?"

Her eyes finally shift to his, her penetrating orbs and steely tone unsettling him more than he'd like to admit.

"Before, I didn't know how you did it," she muses, her gaze now on a loose bumper as if she wasn't really addressing him or his confusion. "How you pulled those 'long cons' I read about in your file," she clarifies more to herself than to him and he stares, trying to figure out where she's going with this.

"But I get it now. I've been on this island for almost four years, I've been someone I can't even recognize most days, and all I have to say for myself is that it's suffocating."

She laughs through the sudden tears and James thinks of masks and cons and rifles and being left behind and wonders if they really are more alike than he originally thought. He stands there, the fact he's dumbfounded to see someone he thought so mighty and stoic be on the brink of tears had him rooted instantly to the spot.

She recognizes this vulnerability almost at once, and she can't stop herself from hating how broken she feels.

"You were right, James. I'm not a robot," she says in a quieter voice, leaning against the wall of her station.

"I had feelings when I thought Jack cared about getting me off this island. I had feelings every time I saw a mother die and I could nothing about it. I had feelings when I thought you and Sayid were two seconds away from torturing me."

He flinches, she continues. "I had feelings when I saw the corpse of a man who loved me lying in a ditch because of me, and I certainly had feelings when I realized I'll never see my sister again…"

She swipes furiously at her tears.

"And look where that all got me."

She lets out a defeated sigh, placing a palm on her forehead as if both ashamed of the tears while also daring them to continue falling. She turns away from him as she mutters to herself. "When did I become so easy to con?"

James lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"I'm not conning you, Juliet."

His tone is quiet and controlled and she feels his hand on her arm again.

At her silence, he felt the twinge of humor surface in his discomfort. "Look, chances are if I were to jump from a helicopter today, it'd either be _with you_ or _for you_ so if you're done doubtin' and otherwise not believin' me just listen when I say that I'm not con—"

Before he could back up or speak or run, she had whipped around and grasped underneath his arms and pulled him to her with such a force, his words died on his tongue, rendering him speechless. Her chin seems to fit perfectly in the crook of his neck and his arms move with a mind of their own, snaking their wary selves around to envelop her. As he feels her almost inaudible _"I know" _mumble against his neck, he realizes something.

This is the first time she has ever hugged him.

* * *

**_To be continued..._Reviews are love!**


	7. Chivalry

**Author's Note: Bad news—I suck at updating. Good news—I already have the ending written. Kudos to the people who are still reading this; I'm sorry that I've kept you waiting. I figured since our OTP got their happy ending (such a glorious reunion, that was) I have no excuse for never finishing this haha. Enjoy.**

**

* * *

**

_**Chapter 7: Chivalry**_

Sawyer has touched many women in his day. Some were timid, some were not even remotely. With Juliet, it's a curious combination of the two. She has him pulled so firmly towards her body he's almost afraid to move. Her face is buried along his neck, one of her palms clinging to his shoulder in a solid grip while her other arm is wound around his neck, her fingers gently tangling in his hair. This is the self-assured Juliet he knows, the one who acts with swift and unapologetic movements, but he suspects the blush creeping up cheeks are remnants of the old Juliet he heard about. The pushover he will still have to really see to believe exists.

It seems so strange that this sheer human contact seems much more intimate than any steamy kiss he's ever given and he almost feels overwhelmed by the simplicity of her embrace. He's still reeling from the fact that 30 seconds ago he was sure she was ready to sock him in the face, so doesn't really get what this is all supposed to mean, but he can't help but pull her closer anyway.

He's not sure how long it's been before they hear a throat clear, effectively breaking whatever quiet spell they're under. Like teenagers caught behind a classroom building, they awkwardly spring apart to the vision of Horace entering Juliet's station, followed by an always-seemingly-grumpy Phil, a calmly restrained smile forming at Horace's lips.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," Horace says, his voice failing to hide his amusement. If it weren't for the fact that Horace is such an honorable leader, Sawyer would consider decking him to wipe that almost-taunting hippie-smirk off his face. "I need to talk to you for a second, Jim."

Sawyer notices Juliet greet Horace and Phil with a flustered smile before averting her gaze and pretending to busy herself with some random auto part. He tries not to snort.

"What'dya need, Boss?" he asks, leaning against the van Juliet's supposed to be working on, as if the awkwardness in the air is something they're all merely imagining.

"It's Jerry. He's having van trouble near Hostile territory and it's not a big deal, but since the sun is going down, I was wondering if you wouldn't mind escorting him away from the area. We're short-staffed anyway, so we'll just leave the van for morning."

"It's not like you're busy or anything," Phil murmurs at the lack of an immediate response from Sawyer, his arms crossed and his voice inexplicably grouchy, and Sawyer thinks he'd have no reservations in punching him instead. Even his eyebrows were grumpy and annoying.

"What's the problem with the van?" Juliet asks, and the three men turn as if just remembering she was present.

"A faulty engine, but really it's—"

"I can take a look at it if you'd like."

Sawyer's eyes flicker to hers, wondering what game she's playing at, if she's even playing one at all.

"Oh, there's no need in that, Juliet," Horace says resolutely, his hands clasped together and resting against his stomach.

"It's no problem, Horace," she smiles back, setting down a rag against the open hood. "It'll just take a second, I'll go—"

"Like hell you will."

Horace looks a little startled as he turns towards Sawyer.

"James," she starts, her voice that eerie sort of calm it gets when she's trying to prove a point while convincing herself she doesn't have to kick your ass to make it. "It sounds like a simple repair. It's better than leaving it out all night and—"

"Yeah and being alive and well sounds a lot better than riskin' you gettin' jumped by some trigger-happy natives."

Horace shifts his weight from one foot to another, sensing the tension and looking as if he's feeling guilty for starting some lover's quarrel. He clears his throat again.

"You know what? I think it'll be fine, Juliet. Honest," he hastens, his eyes on Sawyer. "We'd rather be safe than sorry. It's just a one van and the repair is simple enough to be saved 'til morning—I'm sure even Phil here could do it." Phil and his eyebrows glance his way. "No offense, of course."

Both Phil and Juliet open their mouths but before anything further can be said, Sawyer is pushing past Phil to get to the nearest Jeep. "Ya'll can stand here and debate all you want. I'll go fetch King of the Muttonchops Guild."

Juliet stares after him, her face unreadable as she turns towards Horace. He shrugs at her, a twinkle of amusement still left in his eyes.

* * *

Juliet grips the foil-wrapped plates in silence, trekking down towards the security office to Miles and Jin. She figures since James isn't back yet and she can't just be sitting around focusing on that sole fact, she'd bring them something to eat. She ambles in, still a little uneasy on her feet, having left the one crutch she was using at her station.

She's greeted with identically amused looks.

"What?"

They thank her and reach for the food, failing to answer her question, but Miles continues to smirk at her through a mouthful of sandwich.

"There's cameras in the motorpool," he says, lounging back in his chair.

"I'm aware," she coolly replies, hopping up to sit on the counter in front of the monitors, grabbing at Miles' thermos. "Don't you two have jobs?" she asks, taking a swig of his water.

"I'm just saying, I think you broke poor Phil's heart."

Her eyes flicker to his unblinking, resisting the urge to react.

"I think he has a thing for La Fleur," he swallows, and finishes with another broad smirk. The ghost of a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth despite the overwhelming desire she has to roll her eyes. Miles is an idiot, but Phil sure seemed a little more peeved than usual.

"So...no more mad at James?" Jin asks, he's smiling too, and it takes her a second to remember he probably didn't catch much of what was just said. She relents and nods anyway.

"Looks like mom and dad have stopped fighting," Miles drawls with mock enthusiasm, his smirk still apparent as his voice drips with sarcasm. "Hooray."

"Miles, it's almost the weekend. Please don't make me hurt y—"

A loud _crack_ tears through the air, the aftereffects of a gunshot reverberating around them before leaving an eerie silence, skidding their conversation to a halt.

The three of them stand there and stare at each other for a second before Jin springs up while Juliet whirls around and they both quickly scan the monitors together. Before they get very far, Miles' walkie hisses a few times before being flooded with crackling noise.

"_Where's Juliet?"_

They recognize the voice immediately. Sawyer sounds out of breath, which doesn't exactly settle Juliet's growing worry.

"Jim?" Miles responds, hastily picking up the walkie and holding Juliet's gaze as he speaks into it. "She's here with Jin and me. What the hell is going on?"

_"I'm fine. Just make sure she stays where she is."_

So naturally, this is when she starts heading towards the double-doors.

Only to be stopped by Jin.

"Juliet, no," he says, his grip on her arm is gentle but his voice is firm. "Sawyer not want this."

"Jin," she begins, a stable intensity in her tone. She tips her head to the side and straightens her back to stand her full height in front of him. "You once told me you'd go wherever Sun went."

She doesn't continue, but instead lets her words hang in the air as she calmly watches his face shift into resolve. He releases his grip and nods to her slightly, a hesitantly softer, knowing look present as his eyes bore into hers. At the back of her mind she felt it was a low blow to bring Sun up, considering he refused to speak about it, but something like silent understanding passed between them and she knows Jin gets it.

Miles grumbles to himself, watching as Juliet heads towards the motorpool to snag a Jeep to go play hero, and adjusts the dial on his walkie to page Horace. "Never a friggin' normal day."

* * *

As she nears the territory, she catches sight of James immediately. His eyes close for a second as he exhales, demonstrating the fact he's less than pleased to see her. Jerry lays unconscious by the van's left tire, his shoulder openly bleeding, while Sawyer's hands are up, willing Widmore's gun to not fire at will.

"Ah, there she is," Charles smirks, announcing it as if he'd been expecting her and he takes a step forward.

Great. The last thing they all needed was a confrontation with Charles-fucking-Widmore in the moonlight.

"Goddammit, I told you to stay back in town," Sawyer seethes, all but spitting, as he eyes Widmore's distance. "Don't you dare get any closer to her. We have a truce with your pretty-boy Rich."

Widmore merely smiles in his self-assured creepy-Widmore manner.

"Well, I don't look like a Richard Alpert now, do I?"

He pauses for a moment, the artificial mirth sliding off his face to give into a trademark stony expression. "What were you doing on the island 20 years ago and why doesn't it look like you've aged a day since I last saw you?"

"Botox. Works wonders. Maybe you should try it."

Juliet wishes she could laugh, but with the malicious way Widmore's regarding James, she can't do much but will her heart to stop beating so fast.

Widmore's short temper seems to rear its ugly head again as ever as he speaks.

"Answer my questions or I'll kill her right here in front of you."

Juliet and Sawyer simultaneously whip their heads in Widmore's direction, as if it's again that night in the jungle, as if it's an unpleasant case of déjà vu.

"Not this again, Chief."

And before Juliet can stop him, she watches James lunge towards him. She swears she isn't breathing, but before Widmore can do more than turn to face James and fumble for his own gun, Juliet's hand swiftly pulls a handgun from the back of her jeans, and sets the barrel to the back of his skull. He stills, kneeling on the ground before her as Sawyer scrambles away from him, surprise clearly etched on his face.

"Put your gun down, Charles," she orders, her voice this fierce sort of resolve Sawyer's not sure he's heard before. Her hand is steady on the trigger even when Widmore lowers his rifle slowly.

"Guess this makes _us_ _Mission Impossible_," Sawyer murmurs.

"Widmore! Stand down!"

The image of Horace passing the pylons, his own Dharma brand of cavalry behind him, seems to distract them all.

Before anyone can stop him, before Juliet can roll her eyes at James' comment, Charles moves and Juliet finds herself being shoved down upon prickling grass and James feels a subtle aching at the back of his skull before the world goes black.

* * *

**I swear I'll have the next chapter up soon. ****Reviews are love.  
**


End file.
